Happy Christmas, Ron
by jayleah
Summary: A short missing moment from Order of the Phoenix. Hermione tries to give Ron a sign, especially after he gave her perfume and she only gave him a homework planner...


_disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling is a goddess. _

She only had a few minutes.

A few minutes until Mrs. Weasley called them all to Christmas supper. A few minutes until Harry found them. Until Ginny came upstairs and made some comment about the two of them together. A few minutes until Fred and George tried to startle them both by apparating in front of them.

A few minutes until she could finally give Ron a hint about how she felt. A real, live, hint. And then maybe he would get it. And maybe he could see all the things _she _saw in him.

And then maybe he could forget that she had only given him a homework planner for Christmas. When _he_ had given _her_ perfume.

A ruddy _homework planner_. Hermione wanted to kick herself.

They were standing on a quiet landing at 12 Grimmauld Place, a floor above their rooms. Hermione had lured Ron upstairs, under the pretense of looking for Kreacher who had been missing over the course of the day.

She didn't think he would come with her. After all, hanging with house elves wasn't one of Ron's preferred holiday activities. But Hermione made an internal bargain with herself anyway: _If he comes upstairs with me I'll try and give him a sign. And if he doesn't, then it just means it's not the right time._

When Ron agreed to look for Kreacher with her, her first reaction was to tell him to forget it. A few moments later, as they started climbing the stairs together, she thought her legs might give out. _Hermione, are you in Gryffindor or not? And now you're talking to yourself, just brilliant._

"I'm going completely mad," she said out loud, though she hadn't meant to.

"Hmmmm?" Muttered a distracted-looking Ron.

"Nothing," She answered weakly.

Step after step, room after room. No Kreacher. There weren't many places left to look. Her little diversion was quickly turning into a bust.

On the way back down, she knew she had to do something, anything, before they weren't alone anymore. They were rarely ever alone anymore. At least, not for very

long.

As Ron started to take the first step downstairs she tugged hard and fast onto his shirtsleeve. He whipped around, slightly off-balance.

"Wha-? Hermione?"

She was usually good at thinking on her feet, at improvising. But her voice felt completely caught in her throat.

And then finally she had out with it.

"Ron, I just wanted to thank you again. Fortheperfumeofcourse." Before she could stop them, her words came spilling out so fast in a jumble.

Ron simply stood there, looking slightly hurt and confused. _Why does he look so put out? I will never understand this boy._

He intently studied the floor with the same sad-sack expression before moving his eyes down the staircase.

"But you said it was...unusual," he croaked.

Oh no. She _had_ said it was unusual. Because it _was_ unusual. She had to rectify this, and fast.

But what could she say?

_It's from you. I love it because it's from you. Even if it was the most beautiful perfume in the world I would never ever wear it. I want to save it forever because...you gave it to me._

She certainly couldn't, wouldn't say that.

"Yes, unusual...but...good unusual," she managed finally. _Merlin's beard, Hermione. That's all you have to say?_

He turned to look at her now. His eyes rested on her face in a way that made her feel warm and nice, but not a bit unsettled.

"...good," was all he said, in a small voice that sounded far away.

Hermione wished this would be enough for him. Enough for him to _know_. But he was again looking down the staircase while rubbing the back of his neck and looking not a bit uncomfortable and she would have given up all the sugar quills in the world to know what the knut was going through his mind right now.

"Ron -"

Hermione started to speak but was cut off. A familiar voice rang up the steps, signaling to come down for supper. Hermione heard all manner of shuffling and two tell-tale pops, most likely from Fred and George who apparated and disapparated everywhere these days.

Surprisingly, Ron didn't make a move. Even with the prospect of food looming, he didn't flex one muscle. Hermione looked up at him to find that he was staring hard.

Barely even blinking, focusing his gaze right into her eyes.

She knew she had to do something more and _right now_...her original plan hadn't gone very well. So she did the only other thing she could think of. Taking a couple quick steps towards Ron, she stood so close she could hear, no feel, him breathing. She didn't understand why all of a sudden she felt so strange. Like all of her air flow had been cut off. But she was also very aware that she was breathing fast and her head felt as if it was underwater, swimming, blurry. It was the strangest sensation in the world, but oddly pleasing.

Hermione took a hold of his jumper at the elbow, almost as a lifeline, and looked up into his eyes.

Ron went white as a sheet, his breathing also fast, almost matching the rise and fall of hers. He was looking right back at her, his gaze direct, puncturing her resolve. _He has to know how I feel_, she thought.

Hermione felt like she was moving in slow motion. Shakily standing up on tip-toe, she kissed him slowly on the cheek, much like she had before his first quidditch match earlier in the school year. She tried to take her time, putting all of her emotions into this one brief, chaste kiss, just in case...

Just in case what? As she began to pull back, she searched his face but he looked as clueless as ever, still looking directly in her eyes but with a mixture of shock and confusion. Like he didn't believe this was happening.

Hermione took a full two steps back, unsure. He hadn't made a move to touch her. He hadn't tried to get any closer. As the weight of these facts settled in her brain, Hermione's heart fell from her chest to the pit of her stomach.

"Happy..." she started, before her voice failed her. "Happy Christmas, Ron." And then she flew down the steps in a jittery flurry of limbs and hair, leaving him rooted to the spot, staring straight ahead as if she was still there. As if she was still kissing him on the cheek, wishing him a merry Christmas. Moments later he slowly turned on his heel and took each step downstairs slowly, distractedly.


End file.
